This Story Has Rampant Sarcasm
by DeceitInCalifornia
Summary: This is the story of Trudy Lafollette, a supposed ten year old starting her adventure. There will be bad language, and plot events/things mentioned that will be very insulting to some. For those reasons, it is rated M. Also, this is mostly a parody of all of the games combined. There are more chapters to come. Please enjoy...
1. Chapter 1

One

I suppose that at this point in the story I should introduce myself.

My name is, technically, Gertrude Lafollette, but I go by Trudy. I've never been sure if that was a nickname or not, but does it _really _look like I care? Well, seeing as you can't actually look at me right now, I'll just tell you: I don't.

Anyhow, today is my alleged tenth birthday. Why alleged? I mean, honestly, can you imagine any _good _parent letting their kid just go out to be potentially murdered on their tenth birthday, all while still being responsible for up to six creatures? Seriously, at least wait until they turn fourteen or something. Fourteen is a _much_ better age for being murdered. Believe me though; I'm not some sort of maniac (despite what my mother says, but you can't listen to that raging psychopath). I have _evidence_; the kind that proves my point.

Let me start off with my strongest argument: all of us "ten-year-olds" are oddly mature for our age, especially when taking into account that we have to take care of these possibly hellish monsters that follow us around until we inevitably die. The funniest part of it all is that I'm sure that I'm going to be one of those "unfortunate trainers" who are "sadly" killed in a fatal "accident" involving their "_loving" _pokémon. That's just my guess, anyways.

My second and last (and therefore weakest, I suppose) piece of evidence is that I have only very vague memories of my life up until just a couple of years ago. That's probably because of that part of my brain not being developed until a few years back, so who knows how many years it actually has been. If I had to guess, I would say it's been about fifteen or so years. Well, I have a little brother who I'm told is seven years old, and I can clearly remember the day he came home from the…hospital? Pokémon center…? The forest…? Whatever; that means that my memory was developed enough to remember that with clarity, so me being age eight when that happened seems logical.

Ugh, all this math is hurting my head. I've only recently learned basic addition and subtraction and I still don't know what multiplication and division are. It works out doesn't it, though? I don't know basic math, so what? Thanks to my ten (or more…) years of pokémon trainer school, I know a bunch of nifty catchphrases that I can say after winning against an opponent that will usually relate to what I said to bother another trainer into battling me in the first place! Obviously I have my priorities very straight, don't I?

Well, I've done enough ranting about my conspiracy theories for now, so I guess I'll have to open my eyes to start my so-called adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Wow, my room is absolutely disgusting.

The walls were probably a pure white once, but now it looks more like somebody came in and sprayed them with some sort of sewage hose. Okay, they aren't that bad, I promise, but they definitely are more stained-brown than white at this point. You know, it's funny; I've come back to this room almost every day since I've been born and never thought to scrub the walls. A good daughter would have cleaned them at the first sign that they were becoming dirty. Oh well; Mom can take care of it.

"Hey sweetie, wake up! Your breakfast is ready!" Mom's voice has this quality to it that makes even the quietest of words seem like the loudest. So when she's actually trying to be loud, you better watch the fuck out.

I get up, but only because if I don't, I know that her screaming voice will be even closer to me than it is now. I look dejectedly back at the indent my head made in the pillows and sigh; I really want to sleep for a few more hours.

I step up on semi-shaky legs, my mind still hazy from sleep, and begin my trek out of my door and down the creaky stairs. I remember tripping over the stairs so many times in the past few years, mostly because my mom enjoyed an activity that she liked to call "The Preparedness Game". It involved the stairs being an outrageous distance from each other and me having legs too short to actually walk down or up them without help or a lot of time dedicated to the task. Oh, another key element of the game was sadism; lots and lots of sadism, all on my mom's part. The thing I remember most about the game was her laughing face as I cried over my bloody knees somewhere on the middle of the stairway. The only thing "The Preparedness Game" prepared me for was trust issues.

I shake the memory physically out of my head just in time to reach the bottom of the steps. It's a little weird being promised breakfast for the first time in forever, and then getting to the kitchen, only to not smell _anything._ There's nothing quite like eating disappointment for breakfast.

The grimace comes over my face unbidden but not unwelcomed. In fact, I hope that Mom sees that expression and feels guilty about ruining my dreams. I decide to sit down at the small table in the kitchen area, and see Mom doing something with the stove. Possibly making me breakfast?!

"Mom, are you actually making me breakfast?" I ask with the hope clear in my voice. Just because breakfast was something done annually around our house doesn't mean that it's a testament to my mom's cooking. Despite her many, _many _flaws, she still makes some damn good pancakes.

Mom laughs, a cheery sound that should have only come from someone my age or younger. Her head shakes in the negative, still laughing, and I sit fully back down in my hard wooden seat with a downtrodden frown on my face.

"How could you even think that? When do I _ever _make you breakfast?" Mom asks, laughing now with less intensity, but the same amount of amusement.

She takes one final deep breath and gets all of her laughter out of her system, finally turning towards me as if to have an actual conversation. She brushes light blonde hair out of her face to better look at me. Her previously bright smile dims greatly as she takes in my appearance. I mean, I know that I haven't brushed my hair or changed out of my pajamas, but I don't think I look that bad right now. But that's beside the point; she owes me breakfast!

"Oh honey, you look like you had a rough night. Just absolutely horrible, like some sort of ghoul or something…" Mom says the last part mostly to herself, if her wandering eyes are any indication.

I ignore her, still determined to get my damn food. I take a deep breath, ready to spew words of condemnation at her, when we both hear a loud creak on the stairs. I don't even turn because I can tell who it is just by looking at my mom's face.

It's always really easy to tell when my little brother enters a room; you just have to look at my mom. She gets really happy, and this proud smile breaks out on her face, and it's like Arceus came down from space to give her on of his green jewels. Personally, I don't understand what she likes about him; he's lazy, annoying, and has this gross habit of never brushing his teeth. To date, I'm pretty sure he's had around ten cavities.

I roll my eyes when I glance over in time to see him grin widely at Mom; he's such a kiss-ass. She walks over to him and murmurs something I can't hear, which makes him nod and look at me with a smirk infecting and taking over his once childish smile. Now he just looks like a demon. Next his eyes are going to become fully black, just you wait.

He strides over to me and sits at the chair next to me, without as much as a word. I narrow my eyes at him, and furrow my eyebrows when he looks at me with that annoying expression on his face. It's the expression he has when he gets me in trouble and he's feeling satisfied about it, and it always manages to make me nervous. And angry. Now is no exception.

Mom comes in from the kitchen just when I am about to snap and hit him, with something crinkly in her hand. She smiles when she gives it to me, sharing a look with my brother and giggles just a little bit when I look at it.

Apparently, the crinkly package in the shiny wrapping is my breakfast. Now don't get me wrong, I think the granola bar advertised on the front looks great and very appetizing, it's just…I thought I had pancakes waiting for me! Wow, even in my mind that sounds winy.

Mom and my brother are laughing at me now, if not verbally then with their eyes. Two pairs of oceanic blue pools of death stare back at my unsmiling face. I feel a definite headache coming on.

"So this is breakfast then?" I ask rhetorically, rubbing my temples all the while.

The two of them are looking at me like I'm the victim of the greatest practical joke ever. I'll be honest, they both look just like each other; both with this silky blonde hair and blue eyes ( I think they look like the water in a freezing ocean; kind of pretty but still very capable of killing you, but they both get compliments a lot when we all go out) and lightly tanned skin. They are both really beautiful people and I'm always the odd one out of those two.

My hair is the best thing about me; really full and soft and brown. The rest of my face and body…well, the combo package is average at best. I've accepted it and it all seems to work out pretty well for me.

My brother is really my half-brother. You see, my dad is number one out of the three "dad options". Option one is the dad who disappeared for no apparent reason, but will probably show up later on in the story as some challenge to defeat. Option two is the dad who is there and lives with you, but is either overprotective (or a reasonable amount of protective, when you think about it) or ashamed of you. Lastly is option three, where the father is just kind of AWOL. He never comes up later in the story and serves absolutely no purpose. He's just plain not there.

Either way, my mom was (is still) a giant prostitute of sorts and I was her big surprise. She says my dad panicked when he learned she was pregnant and left, and that he was a talented trainer, but that's all. In the midst of those details, it's a wonder she wasn't ever able to recall his name, but whatever. Like I said, he's an option one dad, and I'll figure more out about him later on my own time.

My brother's is an option three dad, whose name was just forgotten in the flurry of not having a real job besides doing our laundry and not cooking me breakfast. I sigh again, hungry and still a little irritated with my present company.

"Okay, guys, that was…_so funny _and I still have to take a shower. So…I'll see you two when I get out then." I back away from them, and go back up the stairs to take a peaceful shower; probably the first and only of my day. Happy Birthday, Me…


End file.
